Drifting Back
by freya-sundust
Summary: AU. Each chapter tells a different story: when they got back from the island, and what would be happening if they were still there. Home and Island are idependent and dependent on each other. Enjoy.
1. Chapter One

**Home.**_  
_

_With the strength of the summer sun came the strength of all emotions: love, passion, and even fury, most particularly between a certain boy and girl, or perhaps at that time, man and woman. There was no use in kidding that Dean and Emma were children any longer. Time had changed them. Time, and the island._

Dean usually waited in the same spot, hands in his pockets, watching the school doors flap open and slam closed again as mobs of eager teenagers gushed from their contents. It never took him long to spot Emma in the crowd, her curls flapping against her back and a book indefinitely tucked under her arm.

So on that humid day, when summer has just begun to creep its way into everyone's lives, Dean could not help the smile that crept onto his face when he saw her bouncing down the steps. It might look odd to anyone who happened to walk by, seeing him there, watching her, considering that he should be in class as well. But he had opted to take a study period the last hour of the day rather than the advanced chemistry class Emma had chosen and so easily completed daily. Leaving school early certainly had its perks, but watching her walk toward him everyday was most definitely the best of them.

He rolled down his window as she neared, raising one eyebrow and forming a crooked smile.

"Can I help you?" he asked as she rested her chin on her folded arms that laid on the edge of the window.

"Give me a ride?" She asked sly, and Dean rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically.

"I guess just this once," He said as he laughed, but Emma was already jumping into the empty passenger seat. She threw her bag into the back, and didn't hesitate to reach across the seat for his collar and pull him in for a kiss. They're lips joined effortlessly, creating a warmth that only young love could kindle. It was short but passionate, and certainly left Dean aching for more when she drew away.

He groaned and threw is head back, but she just smiled and shook her head. "Later," she promised, and handed him the keys from the dashboard.

"And how was your day?" she asked as he pulled away, shifting the gears of the clunky truck.

"Mundane," he nodded, and she smiled slightly. There was a pause in their conversation as they both thought for a moment.

"You?" asked Dean finally, and she sighed.

"Kylie broke up with Josh," she said dryly. "Again."

"I'm sure you heard about that to no limit," Dean said, turning quickly down an empty road toward his house.

"Endlessly," she verified. She didn't like to get tangled up in other's affairs, especially those which were so trivial. Maybe it was being away from it for so long that changed her, but listening to her friends whine about boys and teachers and parents just didn't occupy her like it used to. She felt more mature now, almost like she had realized what was really important to her.

Dean braked into a slow stop as he reached his house, the long, green yard stretched out next to the truck like a football field, or it could be with as well as it was kept. He didn't understand why his father went to such extents to keep the yard so tidy. What did it matter if the grass grew a little shabby, or faded into that brown color that most yards maintained during those dryer days? Was it his mother's passion for the garden that made his father work to keep the yard in top condition? Or, more precisely, the workers that his father hired. He sighed.

"Are you okay?" Emma asked, and he nodded. He flashed her a strained smile, hoping that she might buy it, but she saw through him.

"Dean," she said, a concerned tone in her voice. She rested her hand around the curve of his chin, her fingers wrapping up the side if his cheek.

"It's nothing, really." He promised, placing his hand over hers. She watched him for a moment, and then looked away.

"I should call my mom," she said, reaching into her bag for her phone. "Or at least text her. Just so she knows where I am." She added.

"Em, as if she doesn't know your with me."He said with a chuckle, but the worried expression didn't leave her face.

"Still," She said , looking down at her phone, "It'll just be a sec," She started to dial her mom's number into the phone, but was already distracted by the third number as Dean leaned over and pressed his lips against her neck. A shiver ran down her back and through her legs; his breath was this strange and pleasurable sensation. She tried to pull away, but his hand on her thigh made her head foggy and the phone slipped from her fingers. She gave in, running her fingers through his dark, shaggy hair and meeting his lips half way.

"This is your fault," she whispered, and he laughed. He pulled her seatbelt free and curled his arms underneath her thighs, pulling her on to his lap in a quick motion. She laughed in delight, watching how his arms could manipulate her so easily. And she loved it.

They eventually made their way out of the truck, Dean patting his matted hair down into something presentable. His father could be inside, he knew, and he would put the pieces together fairly easily. He squeezed Emma's hand, and lead her up the driveway to the side door. He sloppily reached for the lock, tugging the keys from his pocket. He jammed the key against the lock several times, but it wouldn't seem to do its job. He heard Emma laugh, and she gently eased the key from his hand. She waited for the distinctive click as she turned the knob around twice, and then pushed the heavy door open. She handed the key back, her eyebrows raised.

"Shut it," he said, and she smiled smugly. He went in first, and she followed, tugging her bag through the door. She had packed it with books during school hoping to get some studying in, but something told her they wouldn't even touch them that evening.

"Dad!" Dean called, poking his head around the hallway corner. "I'm home!"

They both waited for a response, and when none came, he called again. Silence.

"Perfect," Dean whispered, tucking a stray hair behind Emma's ear. She could feel her pulse raising, and took in several deep breaths. She could only make out a few simple features on Dean's face in the dark hallway; his curved jaw, the outline of his eyes, and of course, his lips. She reached for them, pressing her own against his, and smiled.

"God, I missed you," Dean mumbled, and Emma laughed.

"I saw you right before my last class. It was only an hour." she said, but he shook his head.

"Being stuck on an island with someone makes for hard habits to break," he whispered, and she felt her heart drop. Maybe it was the mention of the island, or just the way he said it, but it left her with a strange feeling and a pounding in her head. She hated to bring it up again, but the words spilled over before she could stop them.

"Do you ever...miss it?" She asked. Of course, they'd discussed this a thousand times, over late night calls or whispers through the window. Sometimes Emma would have this moment, where the reality of it all would just crash, and Dean was the only one who could calm her. He'd whisper things to her, about everything being okay, and her pulse would eventually slow as well as her racing thoughts. But nothing could ever calm the raging memories that tore at her subconscious.

She pressed her back again the wall and slid down to the floor, sitting facing the opposite wall. Dean mimicked this, sliding next to her.

"All the time," He said, reaching for her hand. She didn't resist, letting his him massage the circulation back into her cold fingers. "Well, parts of it." he added.

"Which parts?" Emma asked, looking up at him. He stared at her, her brilliant blue eyes and the curve of her nose. And he thought.

"How carefree we were, I think." He said finally, nodding his head almost as if to be sure of himself. "Remember? Remember how we used to swim for hours and just sit in the sand?" he asked, "And we fought. We fought all the time," he added with a bark of laughter, "But it was okay. Because, we were together. And it worked. I guess."

His words were left to echo through Emma's mind as they sat there, the silence almost deafening.

"And, you know, the sex was great," He added with a goofy grin, and she smiled, resting her head against his arm**.**

"We'll be okay, you know?" he asked her, the tone of his voice shifting to a more serious level. He lifted her chin up to meet her eyes with his. "We'll be okay."

And it didn't really matter if the words were true, because they were okay then, and that was all that really mattered.


	2. Chapter Two

**Island.**

It was the sun that woke her up that day, although it could have been a number of things of the sort. The crashing of a particularly rough wave, or the wind that licked against their cheeks, or even the gritty sand beneath their legs. But it was not any of those alternatives. It was the sun, perhaps Emma's favorite manner to be awoken, as long as Dean was lying there to enjoy it with her.

Eleven months. That's how long it'd been. Eleven long months since they had drifted out to that island. And as Emma scratched a large star on the wide, flat rock to represent another month, she silently wondered how many more she might have to draw.

She walked back to the make-shift camp Dean still soundly slept on, his arms sprawled across the palm leaf mat. He'd always been a late sleeper, despite Emma's early morning habits. She was often left waiting for him in the mornings, although she didn't really mind. It was nice to watch him sleep, his face smooth and his back gently rising and falling. But even so, she much preferred his company over the silence.

So she laid down next to him, tucking her feet against her knees and tracing the pattern of scattered freckles on his back with her eyes. She became so comfortable in this that she let out a small surprised gasp when his leg twitched and he turned over to face her. She held her breath for a moment, but let out a sigh when he lackadaisically moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He immediately turned to his side, searching for Emma. Of course, she was there, her curved, tanned back facing him. He smiled when he saw this, her curls twisting down her shoulder and onto the leaf mat they slept upon. He slid a tuft of hair between his fingers, wrapping it around his thumb and then letting it spring free. Emma felt the curl gentle thump against her back, and she turned her head to face him.

"You're up," he said surprised, and she shot him a crooked smile.

"Of course." She said, turning her entire body to face him. His eyes traced her bare frame, and chills ran down his neck as he did so. He silently wondered where he'd thrown her shirt last night; somewhere near the camp, he hoped. She couldn't spare to lose her only shirt, although, he thought, going without wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

"I'm starving!" He proclaimed, and sat up on the mat with a loud yawn. Emma nodded in agreement, and slowly pulled herself up from the mat and scanned the surrounding beach for her shirt. Their clothes had held up surprisingly well, requiring only a few repairs over the months. Of course, they spent lots of time in the water or sleeping anyway, times that didn't really require clothing. Emma silently thought this as she picked up her shorts, and scanned her arms, impressed with the tan she had acquired.

"Here," Dean called, and she looked over to see her blue shirt in his hand. He tossed it to her, and she slid it on quickly, her fingers flying over the buttons.

Breakfast, Emma thought, and quickly debated their options. They'd started a small garden a few months ago, containing some herbs along with a few juicy tropical fruits that had responded successfully to their planting. Dean had also set up a netting system in several places along the shoreline that brought in fresh fish with every rising of the tide. These were successful systems, gardening and fishing, that kept them full. Emma decided to head to the garden, and Dean followed behind her.

It was odd, now, how few words they exchanged. Of course they talked, about all sorts of things. But the simpler things, yes' and no's, where's and how's; they weren't needed. They just knew. Dean could see Emma's eyes asking to lift the trap from the net, and Emma knew when Dean wanted her to pat the dirt over a planted seed in the garden. They learned each other's body language. They learned each other.

Emma leaned down into the outer soil of the garden, pulling away a few stray weeds. Dean walked up behind her as she pulled a small green fruit they'd taken to calling 'stars' from its stem, and handed it to him.

"May," Dean said quietly.

"Hm?" Emma asked as she tugged another plump star from its holds.

"It'd be May." He clarified.

"It still is May. I mean, that doesn't change just because we're here." Emma said, and turned to face him.

"It doesn't feel like May." He shook his head, and then accepted another piece of fruit from her. They walked back to the beach in silence as Emma thought what Dean had said over. It made sense, she realized. Of course it was still May here, but something didn't feel the same. She wasn't filled with that pre-summer zeal, she hadn't thought to look for new sandals at the mall, and she certainly wasn't reviewing her plan for after graduation. It was so different now. It almost hurt to think about it. She carefully set the fruit on the mat and Dean mimicked this. He mumbled something about checking the nets, and she nodded. He swaggered off, the morning sun hitting his back.

She silently cut one of the stars up, using the knife Dean had created from a piece of bamboo. The juice dripped over her fingers and into her legs, leaving a sweet scent behind. It reminded her perfume, or the closest she would come to it here. It was gleeful, that thought, that moment, and when Dean hung a line of fish from the tree across from her, she was smiling.

"I love you, you know." She said, and he turned from his work and flashed her a real, genuine smile.

"I know." He said, and knew, that would always be the same.


	3. Chapter Three

**Home.**

"Red, or blue?" Emma asked, holding two identical dresses in front of the mirror, examining them both. She turned to face Dean, who was slouched in the fitting room chair with a tired expression on his face.

"Aren't they just going to be underneath the robe?" Dean asked, holding his hands in the air looking for the answer. It seemed pointless to debate the two dresses when no one would see them on Graduation Day anyway.

"Dean, please?" She groaned, and held the dresses higher to force his decision. His eyes shifted from each hand-red, blue, red, blue- and shook his head in frustration.

"Uhh..." he hummed, crinkling his forehead as he thought. "Red." He said finally, satisfied with his answer.

"Great." Emma said, and smiled. "Blue it is." She set the red dress on the rack and skipped out of the dressing room, leaving Dean sitting in amazement. He groaned as he hopped out of the chair, but still smiled as he trailed after her.

"You're crazy. You know that, right?" he asked, shaking his head with a big grin. They stood at the register, Emma carefully unzipping her purse and pulling out her wallet, Dean's large frame towering over her as he leaned against the counter. The cashier slid the dress into a bag.

"Here you go," The cashier said, handing the bag across the counter and snapping her gum. Emma handed it off to Dean while she finished paying. The cashier watched them carefully, the way his eyes were always on her, the way she almost-blushed when their hands touched at the handing-over of the bags. She smiled a little.

"Have a nice day." She said happily, and Emma wished the same to her. She pressed the clasps of her wallet closed again, and then looked up to Dean with a sigh.

"Done," she said enthusiastically, and he just laughed.

"What?" she asked playfully, quickening her steps to match his as he reached the sliding doors that led to the parking lot.

"Nothing," He said, and she nudged him with a giggle.

"Liar," She shook her head, her eyes searching for Dean's truck. She found it, and swerved to head the right direction. She carefully set the dress along the back seat as they reached it, and then hopped into the front seat next to Dean.

As he started the ignition and began to pull from the parking space, Emma clicked through her phone for any messages. There was only one, from her sister.

We're going out to dinner. Mom said get something while you're out.

"Are you hungry?" She asked Dean, not glancing up from the phone as she typed a quick response.

"Yeah, starving actually." He said, and she slid the phone back into the bag. The words felt odd coming off his tongue, though, considering he'd been a lot hungrier than this before. But he just shook his head.

"Where do you want to eat?" Emma asked, running the list of restaurants around through her head.

"Chinese?" He suggested, gripping the steering wheel and easing into a stop at the red light. Emma shook her head.

"No, I had that last weekend." She sighed, watching cars zoom by.

"Hm." He hummed. Trivial decisions like these sometimes frustrated him. It seemed like Emma had more easily slipped back into normality than he had. Or if she hadn't, she was very good at pretending. He knew she still had a hard time with some things, but she so easily became the same busy, chipper student she was before she left. She was different, yes, but she was the same in many ways, too. Maybe that's why he loved her so much.

They settled on McDonald's, walking hand in hand into the busy restaurant, filled with whining toddlers and greasy trays. Emma did not particularly enjoy the food here, but there it was more of a ritual than anything. McDonald's was, in her eyes, the essence of a regular, American life. And that's what she wanted.

"I probably shouldn't be eating this." She sighed as Dean balanced the tray of food in one hand and the drinks in another, an act he was quite proud of. He slid them onto the table with a chuckle.

"That's the fun part." He insisted, and he tapped his straw against the table until it shed its wrapping.

"I think you and I have different perceptions of fun." She said, plucking a fry from the bag. He parted his lips to respond, but the buzzing of his phone in his pocket interrupted him.

"Hold on," He said, holding up a finger and pulling the phone to the table. Dad, it read.

"Hello?" He answered quietly, barely audible to Emma over the buzz within the restaurant.

"Where are you?" His father asked, but his mind was obviously somewhere else. Dean sighed.

"Out." He shrugged, and Emma watched him as he did so. She knew the relationship he shared with his father. It had improved upon his arriving home, but only slightly. There was still a distance between them that might never be filled. She wondered if her presence in Dean's life only widened this gap.

"When will you be home?" He asked knowingly, all too parent-like for Dean.

"Seven?" He responded, looking to Emma for confirmation. She idled to a moment, and then nodded. It was only five now; she wasn't sure what would hold them up for another two hours. But she didn't argue it. She certainly didn't mind spending time with Dean.

"And you've finished all your shopping for graduation?" He asked, and Dean nodded until he remembered that this action was not visible through the phone.

"Yeah," He nodded.

"Good." His father said, and the line went dead before Dean could do it himself.

Dean shook his head with a sigh as he slid the phone back into his pocket, and began to unwrap his burger. Emma watched him worriedly.

"You're all right?" She asked, and he sent her a half-smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Fine." He said, but he could see the doubt in her eyes. "Promise." He smiled, exaggerating the word to coerce a smile from her. It worked.

They finished the dinner in mostly silence, with the occasional head nod or smile. A look could speak a thousand words.

"Oh," Emma remembered at she shook the garbage from the tray into the bin, "My mom wants to know if you're coming for lunch before graduation."

"Is that what you want me to do?" He asked, taking one last sip from his drink before discarding it.

"If you're up for it." She smiled, and he took her hand into his as they pushed through the door into the parking lot.

"I don't know. I do have a busy schedule to keep. I'll try to fit you in." He addressed, and Emma let out a laugh Dean knew would be the death of him. He almost hated to part hands as they reached the car.

"Wonderful." She mocked. She jabbed the button of the radio as she clicked her seatbelt on, searching thought the stations for songs that all sounded the same. She settled on a CD that was already sitting in the player, one she'd heard countless times before. It was one of Dean's favorite bands, and she'd actually grown to enjoy it over time. It was just another thing they shared.

"I love this song." Dean chimed, and blasted the volume as they zoomed from the McDonald's parking lot.

"We'll both go deaf!" Emma shouted, but Dean didn't hear, or decided to ignore it. He tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel, occasionally nodding his head. Emma leaned her head on the window and tucked her legs against the seat, watching the life outside blur into one mass.

Busy strip malls soon melted into suburbs as they turned down the road toward Dean's house. Emma glanced at her watch, 5:32. Two hours before Dean was expected home, but they still headed there anyway. Certainly Dean would not be going home early on purpose.

"What're we doing?" Emma asked as they began down Dean's drive. The song that Dean so enjoyed hummed to an end, and he smiled.

"It's a secret. Shhh!" He held one finger to his mouth, and Emma rolled her eyes. He let out a phlegmy cough, and Emma's eyes narrowed in worry.

"Are you all right?" She asked, and he nodded.

"I'm fine." He insisted, turning into the garage. She nodded, but wasn't sure. She'd hate to see him get sick now, just days before graduation.

"So," He began, pulling the keys from the ignition and sitting back to the silence of the dark garage. "Graduation is on Sunday. That's four days."

"Mmmhm..." Emma nodded. She'd been carefully counting down the minutes, but let him continue on.

"And I know that you've got everything planned out already. But there's something I want to show you before Sunday." He nodded, and Emma's heart picked up. There was something oddly excited about the way he spoke.

He smiled, and then leaned popped open the cupboard on the passenger side. It sprung open, filled with food wrappers and manuals and insurance papers. He shuffled through them quickly, his arm pressed across Emma. She watched him carefully, eager to understand what all this was. It wasn't like him to be so secretive.

"Dean..." She began hesitantly, watching as he tugged an envelope from the console. He pushed it shut again and then wagged the envelope in the air proudly.

"Just wait." He instructed, and she sealed her lips in defeat. She had never particularly enjoyed surprises. She liked to know what was happening before it happened.

"Okay," He said as he tore the letter open, bits of paper falling on his legs. "So my uncle Buzz-I've never told you about him-lives in Florida." He said plainly, sliding the contents of the envelope into his hand.

"On the beach, to be specific." He clarified knowingly, and Emma kind of laughed at his odd enthusiasm. "Buzz and I, we get along better than most of my relatives. He's my mom's brother." She watched as his eyes crinkled slightly at the mention of his mom, but he composed himself. This was Emma's moment, Dean reminded himself.

"A few weeks ago, right after your birthday, I wrote to Buzz. I would have called, but Buzz is a big believer in the written message. We used to write a lot, before my mom, but after...I don't know. But anyway, I've talked to him a bit about the trip we took last fall, everything after. We seem to agree on the fact that you and I could use a break."

"A break?" Emma questioned, her eyebrows raised. Dean smiled deviously, and handed her the papers in his hand.

"Are these..."

"Plane tickets? Yes." Dean cut her off, beaming happily. Her mouth fell open as her eyes scanned over the tickets in the dim light.

"My dad, he already talked to your parents." He said, and finally, she broke into a wide smile as she realized what this meant.

"We're going...to Florida?" She half-shouted, biting her lip to contain her excitement. He nodded.

"On Monday." He smiled, and then, she couldn't contain her excitement. She threw her arms around Dean and practically hopped into his lap. He was taken by surprise, and clutched the seat as she leaned into him happily. Her wavy hair fell into his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. She kissed him happily.

"So we're really going?" She sighed as she slid back into her seat, her stomach buzzing with excitement.

"Better work on that tan, Prom Queen. You'll be the whitest on the beach." He mused, and she thumped him playfully on the arm with a chuckle. She could not believe it. Dean had arranged for them to go to Florida without her knowing? It was a complete surprise, probably his goal. The last time she'd had genuine time with Dean was, well, on the island. The beach would be nice, especially after the hectic haze leading up to Graduation. She could scream from the excitement built inside her.

"His house, it's right on the beach. There's not another for miles. It's beautiful." He nodded, in the daze she saw him settle into whenever he talked about something he really loved. And of course he loved his uncle-he was the one happy reminder of his mother's life instead of her death.

"I love you." She smiled, and he squeezed her hand happily. He had been nervous to share this with her, afraid she might not be willing to go. They'd been home for months, but he wasn't sure if she was prepared to leave her family again. This time he'd bring her home, though.

And so he backed out of the garage, back down the lane and began the descent to Emma's house. He'd chosen the garage as a ceremonial ground for this reveal, although he wasn't sure why. It felt like this place that was his, but apart from his father. And it wasn't perfect or furnished, but it still deserved purpose, he believed. Everything did.

And so he watched as she hurried down the walk to her door, and then smiled back at him one last time before being consumed by the home. He'd miss her, he knew. He always did.


End file.
